


La Voie à Suivre

by orphan_account



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-29 12:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12631467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Gaston falls minutes too early, and the last petal falls without any declarations of love. With the castle staff permanently inanimate, and the Beast cursed forever, Belle takes it upon herself to find the Enchantress and demand the curse be lifted.AKA, Belle gets the adventure and hero's journey she deserves.





	1. chapitre un, la bête

**Author's Note:**

> “Because reason is the only thing that makes us men, and distinguishes us from the beasts, I would prefer to believe that it exists, in its entirety, in each of us.” —Rene Descartes

Before Belle and Maurice had moved to Villeneuve, they had lived in another village not far from Paris, with Belle’s grandmother. Belle didn’t remember much from those early years. Perhaps she recalled sitting on her grandmother’s lap and listening to a story, or the feeling of a new knit shawl, but Belle considered those memories something she had conjured up from stories her father would tell, not something she actually remembered. 

What Belle did remember, was the letter they had gotten shortly after settling in Villeneuve, her _grand-mere_ was ill and was unlikely to recover. Belle was five, and she remembered the ride from Villeneuve to Chantilly, and the sickening feeling that they were racing against time. Her grandmother had died, alone, before they arrived. 

As Belle rode to the castle, she tried to shake that same feeling from the depths of her stomach. Gaston couldn’t have gotten too far ahead of her, she reasoned. He was leading a mob of townspeople, half on foot. Still, Belle urged Philippe forward, unwilling to allow the hunter any advantage. 

The wind whipped against her face, and her eyes watered. The chill, while uncomfortable, was not unwelcome, because it meant she was that much closer to her destination. She desperately hoped she wouldn’t encounter any wolves. 

 _Wouldn’t that be a tragedy_ , the darker part of Belle mused. _The Beast dies because I was eaten alive._ Perhaps more macabre than _Romeo and Juliet_. Despite her love of tragic endings, she was determined not to let his story end sadly. If it killed her, she would make sure the Beast and his servants got the happy ending they deserved. 

Despite the fatigue that was settling in both Belle and Philippe, they reached the castle in record time, and Belle thanked every god she could think of for it. Unburdened by the heavy skirts of her yellow dress, she was able to run, and she ran up the stairs of the _château_ , pushing through the crowd of fleeing villagers. 

The foyer was deserted, Belle saw no sign of anyone, servant, villager, or beast, and the silence frightened her. She stumbled over overturned furniture and shattered china—she shuddered thinking of Mrs. Potts and Chip—and was halfway up the stairs when she heard a voice.

“Gaston went upstairs and to the right.”

Belle turned on her heel and saw LeFou standing in the middle of the hall, looking battered and tired. She hadn’t even noticed him. Belle gave the man a thankful nod, then sprinted up the stairs towards the West Wing. 

Monsieur LeFou’s change of heart did little to ease her anxiety. If _LeFou,_ Gaston’s oldest friend, had turned on him, well. She shuddered to think of what must have occurred. Her legs ached and her chest burned, but she tried her best to run even faster. 

The castle was unusually quiet, save for her labored breaths and echoing footsteps. Every so often, she would hear a whisper, “ _Upstairs!”_ or, “ _Hurry!_ ”  Some unseen servant? Or perhaps the castle itself was alive, urging her to save its master from his certain demise. She was reminded of her first time running through the castle to look for her father. Hours ago, the place had seemed lively and beautiful. She had danced in the ballroom. How had it all gone so wrong so quickly?

Belle had reached the third floor of the West Wing when she heard the gunshot. A little shriek left her mouth, and she tried to stifle the impending sense of dread that churned in her stomach. She sprinted up the nearest staircase and saw a figure silhouetted against a window ledge, cloaked in red. Gaston.

All panic and fear left her, and she was left with nothing but the deepest hatred she’d s for five years. She stormed behind him, furious, then reached into his quiver and snapped his arrows over her knee, barely noticing the pain that spiderwebbed across her skin. Gaston turned in surprise. 

“Belle,” he exclaimed, his eyes darting between his broken arrows discarded next to her, and her state of undress. 

“Where is he?” Belle demanded.

A frightening expression lit up Gaston’s face, and he snarled, leaning in to get very close to Belle’s face. “When we get back to the village, you _will_ marry me. And that beast’s head will hang on our wall!”

“Never!” Belle snapped, and she lunged for his gun. Gaston wrapped his free hand in Belle’s hair pulled, hard, and she shouted in pain. Keeping her hands tight on Gaston’s pistol, she kicked him, kneed him in the groin. He released her hair and slapped her, hard. 

Reeling, Belle fumbled with the handle of his gun and squeezed. The pistol went off, hitting the ground and ricocheting into Gaston’s knee, and he shouted, letting go of Belle. The ledge he was standing on was fragile, however, and as he startled back instinctively, the old, crumbling stone gave way, and he slipped.

“Ah!” he cried, the malice in his face giving way to surprise, then fear. 

“Gaston!” Belle shrieked as she caught sight of his panicked blue eyes. She watched in horror as he reached for her arm but missed, then fell back headfirst. He hit the ledge beneath them and there was a sickening crack as his head hit the stone. 

Belle hesitantly looked over the edge, clinging to the nearest column. Gaston lay in a crumpled heap, a pool of dark burgundy beginning to stain the snow-covered ledge. Belle felt her stomach churn. She sat down, leaning against the column to steady herself. 

When her head stopped spinning and she felt as if she wasn’t going to wretch, she stood and looked over the rooftops again. She scanned the castle for any sign of the Beast— “No!” she screamed, desperately, as she caught sight of him trying to cling to a rooftop and failing. He slipped again, and Belle was certain he would fall to his death, but he regained his footing and clung to the tower. 

At the sound of her cry, the Beast turned, looking for where her voice had come from. He caught sight of her, and said something that Belle couldn’t make out, then called her name, the sound of it making her heart swell.

She followed him as he jumped from ledge to ledge. “You came back!”

“Of course I came back!” she called in reply. She had climbed to the balcony that led into the Beast’s bedroom. Relief began to fill Belle’s stomach, but it quickly turned to dread as she noticed the Beast’s preparation to jump to her.

“Don’t!” she cried, “It’s too far!”

The Beast didn’t heed her warning, instead, he leaped across the castle and landed easily in front of Belle, giving her a smug smile. Belle let her shoulders sag in relief as the Beast rose to his feet, and she nearly flung herself onto him, but she wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. 

“Where is the hunter?” the Beast asked, watching Belle’s face closely.

She felt herself shiver again, and Belle grew pale. She nodded, and she felt her stomach churn again as she recalled the horrid crack of Gaston’s skull against the stone. “He— he fell. He hit his… He’s dead.”

The Beast turned away from her, walking with slight difficulty to look over the balcony. “I’m sorry,” he told her carefully. “Did you—we’re you two…close?”

 “What do you mean?” she asked, frowning. Belle worried for a second that the Beast was angry with her. 

“Gaston,” the Beast stated, flatly. “He said that you sent him here.”

Oh, that’s what worried him. Belle felt her heart seize up as she imagined how betrayed and hurt he must feel. “No!” she assured him quickly, “Oh, I tried to stop them, I came as quickly as I could.” Belle crossed to him and placed her hand on the Beast’s cheek. He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes, and Belle smiled, a warm feeling in her chest. 

“Why did you come back?” he asked, hesitantly. “I set you free.”

Belle thought for a moment. She considered teasing him, perhaps their familiar banter would rouse him out of this melancholy, but she supposed he deserved an honest answer after everything she’d put him through. She opened her mouth to respond, but at that moment noticed the crimson bloodstain pooling across his white shirt, and she gasped. “You’re injured. Did he shoot you?” 

The Beast nodded but angled his shoulder away from her. “It’s alright, Belle,” he said.

Any remorse Belle may have felt for Gaston was erased, and the worst part of her decided he deserved a fate worse than death. “Come inside, I’ll get you patched up. Take off your shirt,” she ordered, reaching for the Beast’s arm to help him inside the room. 

They both noticed the rose at the same time. Its ethereal light was dimming, and the last petal hung delicately from the stem, looking terrifyingly fragile. Belle’s stomach dropped as she realized exactly what this meant, and she turned to the Beast in alarm. 

“The rose—” she cried in alarm.

The Beast, at the exact same time, said, “Belle, I—”

They were both cut off by a deep rumbling within the castle, and both watched in horror as the last petal fell from the rose, floating delicately to land in the withered remains of the flower beneath it, sealing the castle’s fate. 

“No—” Belle breathed, feeling her blood run cold. The castle began to crumble underneath them, and bits of ceiling landed around them with rattling thuds. Belle was suddenly pushed to the ground and covered by a large, warm body. The Beast angled himself above her, one hand supporting his weight, the other cradling Belle’s head so she wouldn’t slam it on the floor. Belle wrapped her arms around the Beast’s torso, burying her face into his shirt.

Moments later, when everything quieted and the only sound was their labored breathing, the Beast pulled away from Belle, turning himself away from her. She couldn’t think of anything to say. She felt useless, frozen, but she urged herself to step towards the Beast and place one hand on his trembling back. “Are you okay?” She asked, lamely. “I’m sorry, I know—”

His voice was low and despondent. “I’m fine. I’m afraid no one else in this castle is quite as fortunate.”

“The servants,” Belle realized, her voice breaking. _Rubbish_ , Cogsworth had said. _We become rubbish._

“It’s my fault,” the Beast moaned, swaying on his feet. “Oh, God—!”

Belle reached for him, doing his best to support his weight. “Come on,” she soothed, smoothing a bit of his hair. “You need to lie down, it’ll be alright.” Her comforts sounded hollow even to her, but she was able to guide him to the bed where he collapsed on his side, his back to her. 

Belle leaned against the bed frame, completely exhausted. Her mind was racing, and she felt as if her legs would give out. God, she wished her father was here. Belle considered herself to be level-headed, and she also considered herself to be good in a crisis. However, she thought, there was only so much one person could take. 

“Alright,” she said shakily, walking around the bed to sit where the Beast could see her. “We have to take care of that wound, first.”

The Beast said nothing, he merely closed his eyes and ignored her. 

“May I look at it?” Belle asked.

He didn’t respond, which Belle took as an affirmative. She tore the neckline of his shirt so that she could remove the bloodstained fabric without making him move too much. It was a routine she remembered well from her time tending him after the wolves. 

She examined the bullet hole carefully. The red, angry flesh was so much different from a wolf bite. She’d treated animal bites before, but never in her life had she tended to a gunshot wound. 

Gaston had shot him twice, one bullet went straight through the chest and out the other side, but the other appeared to be lodged under his right shoulder. 

“Okay,” she breathed, feeling very anxious. “Alright. It’s not too bad.” 

“Just leave it, Belle,” the Beast said, darkly. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Hush,” Belle snapped. “It matters very much to me.” He turned over again, away from her. Belle sighed and removed her hand from his torso. “I’m going to get some clean water, and bandages. I’ll be back in a moment.” 

The castle was unrecognizable. If it had been in disrepair when she arrived, now it was completely in ruin. Columns and bits of the wall had fallen in the hallways and stairwells, and Belle had to climb over them to return from where she’d come. She walked quickly, making her footsteps as loud as possible to drown out the crushing silence.

She remembered that evening by the Beast’s bedside when she had first asked about the rose and the curse. She thought of Lumiére, dear Mrs. Potts—mon Dieu, Chip! —Madame, all the staff she had come to think of as friends, and how they would have become inanimate.

She let more tears fall but continued to walk on shaky legs. “First, the wound. One problem at a time.” 

Oh, how she wished her father were here. Belle’s mind tended to race, and panic did nothing to help her. When Belle was young and her thoughts carried her away to awful scenarios, her father would place an arm around her and tell her to focus on one problem that she could fix right now. 

She took two deep breaths, and said aloud, “I can tend to the Beast’s wounds.” 

Belle continued down the stairs until she found herself in the entryway once more. She looked down the stairs and saw LeFou again, still looking bruised, still waiting by the door. 

“Monsieur LeFou?” she said in surprise. He turned to look at her, taking in her tearstained face and bloodied dress. 

He struggled to keep a calm face. “Gaston?”

Belle pressed her lips tightly together. “He’s dead.”

LeFou closed his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Monsieur. He—he shot the Beast, and then he fell from the ledge. He hit his head.” 

LeFou nodded, swallowing hard, a look of conflict on his face. “He did awful things,” he said. “I’m sorry for what he did to you. What I did to you and your father.”

Belle gave a small smile. “Thank you.”

“Is your Beast—”

“He’s alive, but—” she pondered whether she could trust LeFou, but he _was_ the only other person in the castle besides her. “He’s been shot. I don’t know what to do, I’ve never tended a bullet wound before.”

“I have,” LeFou said. “Mademoiselle, I can help you. I tended to many men during the war. Please, it is the least I can do.” 

Belle looked him up and down, Little LeFou, trailing Gaston’s heels like a dog. Perhaps he was as much of a victim of Gaston’s tyranny as she had been. “Alright, follow me,” she decided. 

LeFou and Belle hurried to the kitchens. Belle opened cupboard after cupboard searching for what she needed. “Damn it all! I can’t find anything!” she shouted, slamming her hand down on a counter in frustration. 

“Use your petticoat,” offered LeFou. “You can make a tourniquet from any fabric. You can use my shirt if you—” 

“The skirt will work,” Belle said. “Do you have a knife or anything?” 

“No,” LeFou replied. “I’m sure I can find one—”

“Oh well,” said Belle. “You don’t mind, do you?” she asked, removing the petticoat and standing just in her bloomers and bodice. LeFou looked away politely. She found a weak spot in the fabric, gripped it tightly with both hands and ripped the skirt in half. She then proceeded to rip the rest of it into strips. 

“We need snow, and a fire,” Belle thought aloud. “I found a bowl that should be big enough. We can start the fire in the Beast’s room.”

“I’ll get the snow,” said LeFou. “Go and get dressed, and meet me back here.” 

Belle gave a grateful smile. “Thank you, Monsieur.” 

She left the kitchen, ran back to the entry hall, then went up the stairs to the East Wing. It was a bit of a walk to her bedroom, but she half-ran to save time. 

Her old blue dress was exactly where she had left it, on her bed, her boots lying on the floor nearby. She noticed Madame was gone. She was more than a little relieved. She hoped she’d spent her last moments near her husband. 

“No use dwelling on that,” Belle reminded herself. “One problem at a time.” 

She put on her blue dress, slipped off the fancy shoes she had worn to the dance and slid her feet into her comfortable leather boots. She pulled the rest of the pins out of her hair and tied it back into a ponytail with a bit of ribbon. 

She took one last look at her room before closing the door behind her. 

Back in the kitchen, LeFou had filled the bowl with fresh snow. He had also found a metal bucket which he had also filled with snow. 

Monsieur LeFou knew a lot about treating bullet wounds. However, Belle knew a lot more about this Beast than he did, so she supposed they were on equal footing. 

“You’ll need more than a bowl full of water,” he explained as she looked at the bucket of snow. “I had time so I got extra.”

“Thank you,” she said gratefully, and she looked at him so warmly he would have thought they’d been friends for years. “Thank you, Monsieur LeFou.” 

“Just LeFou, please,” he said, taking the bucket and bowl in hand. 

“As long as you call me Belle,” said Belle as she gathered the strips of fabric, tucking them in her apron pocket. She picked up a piece of flint and steel from the fireplace and tucked it into her pocket as well. “Let’s go.” 

They walked to the West Wing in silence, until they stopped outside of the Beast’s very grand bedroom door. 

“Let me go in first,” said Belle. “I’ll tell you when you can come in.”

“Alright,” said LeFou. 

Belle pushed open the door and walked inside. The Beast was still lying on his side, eyes open, looking worse than she’d left him. When he saw her, a flicker of life seemed to dash across his face, but it was quickly replaced with even more melancholy. 

“Hello,” she said, trying to bring some cheerfulness back into her voice. “I told you I’d come back. Did you think I’d gone for good?” 

Again, he didn’t respond, only gave a tiny sigh and half-closing his eyes. 

“Monsieur,” she said, trying to recapture his attention. “I’ve brought someone to help us. His name is Monsieur LeFou, and he is from my village. He’s a friend.” That wasn’t quite the truth, but the Beast didn’t need to know that. “We can trust him. He’s going to help me tend to your wound.”

The Beast made no acknowledgment that he heard her. 

“If you’re going to ignore me, I won’t talk to you and we’ll just sit in silence,” Belle snapped, her nerves getting the better of her. She immediately felt terrible for yelling, so she paused, collecting herself before continuing.  “Don’t give up on me,” she pleaded. “Please, please don’t give up.” 

With great effort, he turned to look at her with his sad, blue eyes. Something about what he saw shifted something in his expression and he sighed in defeat. “Alright,” he said, softly. 

Belle smiled and brushed her hand across his forehead. “That’s all I needed,” she said. “LeFou, you can come in now.”

LeFou timidly stepped into the room. When he saw the Beast, his eyes widened, but he maintained his composure, for which Belle was very grateful. 

“LeFou, this is my dear friend, the master of this castle,” she said firmly. 

“ _Bonsoir_ , Monsieur,” LeFou said politely, bowing his head. Belle relaxed. She was certain another person treating the Beast like a human instead of a monster would perhaps ease his suffering a bit. She was so thankful to have someone to help. 

“LeFou, here’s the fire starter,” she said, fumbling in her apron pocket for the stone and steel. “The fireplace is over there, you can set the snow down by me.” 

He obeyed her orders, starting the fire in one swift stroke. She went and handed him the bowl of snow, which he held over the fire to melt it. 

She left LeFou to prepare the water, then returned to the Beast’s bedside. “Can you sit up, please? I need to see the wound again,” she asked gently. The Beast nodded, and sat up, allowing Belle to remove the rest of bloodied shirt. She crumpled it into a ball and tossed it to the opposite end of the bed. Then she examined at the angry red flesh of his shoulder. 

“LeFou, come look at this,” Belle called. LeFou came behind her and peered at the wound. 

“Oh, wonderful,” he said. “This one’s gone clean through.”

“Is that a good thing?” Belle asked.

“Well, it means we don’t have to take two bullets out, which I was worried about. I don’t think we would have managed it,” LeFou explained. “One will be quite enough for all of us.”

“Do you think he’ll be alright?” Belle asked quietly as they dipped bits of her petticoat in water. The Beast was laying with his eyes closed, but she couldn’t be sure if he was actually asleep. 

“I can’t say anything for sure,” said LeFou, “But I can say that it would take at least four shots to take down a creature this big on a hunt.” He blanched. “I mean—”

“It’s alright, LeFou,” assured Belle. “You’re doing fine.” 

She thought the Beast would put up at least as much of a fuss as he had when she had tended to him after the wolves, but he lay there calmly, barely making a sound. The only response he gave was a slight wince and tensing of his body. 

“I’m sorry if that hurts,” Belle murmured. “We’re almost done with this one.” 

After they had cleaned it to LeFou’s satisfaction, he quickly and expertly wrapped the shoulder in the extra strips of fabric. 

“You’re very good at this, LeFou. You should be a doctor,” Belle complemented, trying to keep the mood light and casual for the sake of the Beast. “Don’t you think so?” she asked him. He merely huffed again, and Belle pretended to scold him. “Don’t be rude,” she said, but her attempt at teasing was flat. “Thank you again, Monsieur LeFou. We owe you so much.”

“It was the least I could do,” LeFou replied. “Alright. Let’s see what I can do for this one. We’re going to have to take the bullet out. We usually… um… Could we get him drunk?”

That was not what Belle expected him to say. “I beg your pardon?”

The Beast shifted beneath them. “To dull the pain,” he mumbled. “Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter.”

“Will you stop saying that?” Belle snapped. “Can you even… get intoxicated?”

“It takes a quite a lot,” he replied. “But yes.”

“Where can I find it?” asked LeFou.

“The kitchens,” answered the Beast. “There’s bourbon. You’ll need a lot of it.”

LeFou nodded. “I’ll go. Belle, you can stay here. I remember the way.” He left the room, closing the door behind him, and the Beast audibly sighed.

“LeFou isn’t so bad,” said Belle. “He was always kinder than Gaston.”

“Hmm,” was all the Beast said in response.

Belle stood and crossed to the other side of the bed so that she could lay on her side facing him. Gazing into his melancholy eyes was more intimate than she expected, and she felt warmth flush spreading across her cheeks.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello,” the Beast replied.

She gazed at him a while longer, unsure of what to say. “I’m so sorry,” she finally mumbled, her voice significantly more vulnerable than she intended.

 _That_ got the Beast’s attention. “Whatever for?”

Belle blinked, then nestled herself closer to the Beast’s warm form. “This. Gaston, the villagers. I shouldn’t have…” she trailed off, gathered herself, then continued. “Gaston was right, I did send them here. I used the mirror. I showed them everything. And if they hadn’t come, you might’ve had time to break the spell. This is my fault, I’m so sorry.”

The Beast let out a heavy breath. “That wasn’t your fault, my l—” he stopped himself. “Belle, there wasn’t anything you could have done if you didn’t—” he stopped again, conflict running across his face. He closed his eyes. “The curse was my own fault. A punishment for _my_ actions. You had nothing to do with this.”

“If I didn’t what?” Belle prodded. She had the niggling suspicion that there was something important he was keeping from her. She knew there had been a way to break the spell, Cogsworth had told her as much, but this was the first she’d heard of it having to do with her. “What could I have done?”

The Beast opened his eyes, which scanned her face. He seemed to be struggling with the words. For a moment, Belle thought he was going to tell her the truth, but instead, he replied, “Nothing. It wasn’t in your control. I promise.”

The door opened, cutting off Belle’s response, and LeFou entered, his arms full of glass bottles. “I wasn’t sure how much was a lot,” he said, apologetically.

The Beast suddenly laughed, the ridiculousness of the image getting to him, or perhaps he was delirious from the pain. The laugh was dark and forced, but regardless, the sound was an immense comfort to Belle.

“Four should be plenty,” he replied. LeFou nodded, set the bottles down on the floor, then picked up five of them and carried them over to the bed. He set four down by the Beast, then handed one to Belle.

“It’ll be worse for you, having to watch,” he explained. Belle took the offered drink, and uncorked the bottle, taking a large swig. It burned going down, and she coughed, but immediately a pleasant warmth settled in her stomach.

Four bottles later, the Beast was dazed, and slurring, his words barely making sense. His head lolled on the pillow, and his eyes rolled, unable to focus on either LeFou or Belle. Belle held his hand and traced little circles into his palm to soothe him.

“We’ll need something to put in his mouth, so he doesn’t bite his tongue. A belt?” LeFou said, preparing a few tools he’d found in the kitchen.

“That won’t be enough,” Belle answered. “Darling,” she said, placing a hand on the Beast’s face to catch his attention.

“Hullo,” he mumbled, smiling at her.

“Hello,” she replied, fondly. “Are there any shoes in this room?”

The Beast frowned in confusion and tried to sit up. “Are we going outside?”  

“Lay back down now,” Belle ordered. “We’re going to take that bullet out of you. Are they in the wardrobe?”

The Beast gave an indistinct affirmative, and Belle pointed to the wardrobe. LeFou hurried over and pulled out an expensive looking man’s heel. Belle held out her hand, and LeFou handed it to her.

“Alright, darling, I need you to open your mouth. That’s it,” she soothed, as the Beast obediently bit down on the shoe. “Okay, LeFou, we’re ready. Go on.”

LeFou worked quickly, but each moment the Beast whimpered in pain was an eternity for Belle. She ran her fingers through the Beast’s fur, murmuring words of encouragement and apologies.

Finally— “Got it!” LeFou cried triumphantly.

“Oh, thank God!” Belle cried. “We’re almost done, darling,” she told the Beast, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Just got to wrap you up.” She removed the shoe, which had been destroyed in the Beast’s powerful jaws, and she tossed it aside.

LeFou tied the bandages quickly, and then it was finally over. He took a large swig of a bourbon bottle and staggered into a chair.

“LeFou, thank you,” Belle exhaled. “You’re a godsend.”

“It’s the least I could do,” he said, again.

Belle ran her fingers through the Beast’s sweaty fur and listened to his ragged breathing. “You should get some sleep,” she said.

The Beast mumbled something, then realizing Belle hadn’t heard, he repeated, “Stay with me?”

“Forever,” Belle promised. “I’ll never leave you again.” She stroked her hand across the Beast’s forehead and smoothed his hair affectionately. “Get some rest. You’re going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow.”

The Beast closed his eyes obediently, and within moments, his ragged breaths evened into sleep. When his face was relaxed, he looked almost as he had before the last petal had fallen. 

Belle stood and turned to LeFou. “I can take you to Gaston now.” 

* * *

Gaston lay in a crumpled heap, a large pool of blood surrounding his head like a halo. Whatever Belle had felt towards Gaston, annoyance, resentment, _hatred,_ she couldn’t deny that it was a gruesome scene, and she felt real compassion towards poor LeFou, who had knelt down next to Gaston and cried. 

There was nothing she could think to say. He knew her dislike for Gaston, and she knew any words of comfort would sound like lies. Instead, she rested a hand on LeFou’s shoulder and let him cry. 

After a while, he wiped his eyes, stood, and turned back to Belle. “Can you help me carry him? I’m not strong enough to do it by myself,” he asked. She wondered if he meant physically or emotionally. Perhaps both. 

“I’ll help you,” she agreed. 

They carried Gaston inside, and Belle found a bed sheet to wrap him in. The makeshift shroud was not the best, but it covered his lifeless face, which was a comfort to both Belle and LeFou. 

“I’m going to take him back to Villeneuve,” LeFou said. “He should be buried with his family.” 

Belle nodded. LeFou looked out the open door at the sky, which was turning a bright reddish-orange with the sunrise.  

“Will you be alright here by yourself?” he asked, turning back to Belle.

“Yes,” she replied. “I’ll be fine.” 

“Could I—Would you mind if I come back? I—I don’t like being in Villeneuve without Gaston, and I don’t really want to stay in that house—”

“Of course you can come back!” Belle interrupted. Despite herself, tears began forming in her eyes. “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done. You’re welcome in this castle for the rest of your life,” she said ardently. 

“I will bring Maurice back with me,” LeFou added. “Along with anything else you need.”

Despite having only been on good terms for a few hours, the two embraced, the need for comfort and human contact overriding any sense of awkwardness or propriety. They clung to each other for a moment, before LeFou mounted his horse. Belle handed him the reigns of Gaston’s black stallion, who carried his shrouded body. 

“Au revoir,” she waved, as LeFou started off. “Be careful.”

“Au revoir, Belle,” LeFou waved back. She watched him until he disappeared into the woods. Then, wiping her hands on her apron, she went back inside. 

 


	2. chapitre deux, l'enchantement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your amazing comments! You have no idea how much it warms my heart to have people actually read my story! Hope you enjoy this next chapter!

The Beast woke early the next morning, his entire body throbbing. His head was especially sore, he hadn’t felt this bad since all those years ago when he’d have drink after drink and woman after woman after the lavish parties he’d throw at the slightest whim.

At first, he didn’t remember the events that had led to him lying shirtless in bed with the worst hangover of his life, but they suddenly came flooding back. The dance, the hunter, the rose, and then they… had they taken a bullet out of him? The last part of the night was the fuzziest.

With great effort, he rolled onto his side and realized that he had nearly crushed a sleeping Belle, who was curled up next to him, fully dressed, on top of the covers. A great deal of love flooded through his chest, and he struggled to pull a blanket over her. She stirred, then her eyes fluttered open and she sat up, rubbing at her eyes.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said quietly. “You can go back to sleep.”

Belle blinked the sleep from her eyes. “Mm, I’m awake.” She stretched and turned to look over the Beast’s form. “How are you feeling?”

“Terrible,” the Beast replied, trying to keep his tone light. “I haven’t had a headache this bad in years.”

“You drank an awful lot. I’m afraid it did very little to stop the pain, though,” Belle admitted, biting her lip. “We tried our best.”

“Yes, well,” the Beast hummed, then thanked her. “I’m very grateful.”

Belle flopped back down onto the pillows, then rolled over on her side to face him. “I’m very lucky Monsieur LeFou was there. I wouldn’t have known what to do otherwise.”

“I’m grateful that you came back at all,” the Beast clarified. “The rest is more than I deserve.”

She wiggled so that she was closer to his chest, and tucked her head underneath his chin. He felt suddenly very awkward. Her touch wasn’t unwelcome, but it was an intimacy he hadn’t felt in his entire life, and he wasn’t sure what she wanted him to do. He settled for draping his arm over her waist. To keep her warm, he told himself.

“You’re very warm,” she observed. “But I don’t think you have a fever.”

He quickly pulled his arm back, not wanting to smother her, but she whined in protest and moved closer. “No, I’m cold.” She gently pulled his arm around her again and began tracing little designs into his fur.

“This is hardly proper,” he protested, weakly.

“Damn propriety,” Belle murmured. He didn’t have the self-restraint to argue. Some gentleman he was. “What were you going to say, before?” she asked suddenly, looking up at him with her large, brown eyes. “Before the—the rose.”

The Beast froze, feeling suddenly very trapped. He knew very well what he was going to say. He had opened his mouth to tell her how deeply and painfully he loved her. He thought—perhaps erroneously—that perhaps if he said it, there would be one last chance, one tiny possibility that they could have had a future together. But looking at himself now, permanently monstrous, he was certain no such future existed.

How could he tell her how he felt and doom her to a life here? She’d stay with him if he asked because she was caring and kind. He did love her, and the very thought of it clawed at his heart, but he wouldn’t trap her here again. As he floundered for a believable lie, the selfish part of him, the part he despised and admonished, begged him to tell her and make her promise to never leave and to keep her here with him until he died. But as he looked at her face, so open and young, he knew that she deserved more than this sad castle and its monstrous prince. So, he told her, “It doesn’t matter now, but thank you for asking.”

“Hmm,” Belle was unconvinced. She was clever, and she knew him well, but she didn’t press him, for which he was grateful. Their proximity was making it hard for him to think straight, and he knew if she hounded him anymore he would tell her the truth.  

“How is your shoulder?” she asked. “May I see?” She sat up on her knees to get a better view of the wound. She peeled back a bit of the bandage and exclaimed in shock, “It’s almost gone!”

The Beast healed quickly, that much he knew, but this was beyond his normal recovery speed. The flesh, angry and bleeding the night before, had sealed together, and now resembled a deep scrape rather than a bullet wound.

“Amazing,” Belle breathed. “This is even faster than before.”

The Beast, while shocked, was less pleased than Belle. He was certain this was another one of the Enchantress’s ‘gifts’ and that his rapid recovery speed was meant to keep him trapped on this earth until he lived out the rest of his sentence. “Wonderful,” he said darkly.

Belle looked up at him, her face unreadable. She reached up cupping his face with her hand to force him to look at her. “I know this is hard. I can’t even imagine how you must be feeling, but my dear friend, let us grieve together. Please, if I can be any comfort to you, I would like to be. I will never leave you again. We’re together now, and I can’t promise that everything will be fine, but… If you resign yourself to this fate, there is no possibility of any other path. I’m not going to give up on anyone in this castle, and neither should you.”

He looked at her a moment. Her hope was almost harder to bear than his despair. He laid back down, and closed his eyes. “I’m very tired,” he lied.

Belle swallowed, and gently untangled herself from the bed. “Alright. Get some rest,” she said quietly. He listened as her boots clicked on the marble floor, stopping a few paces away from him. He opened his eyes to see where she had gone, and caught sight of her on the balcony, gently resting a small hand on the glass jar that held the remains of the enchanted rose. His head fell back on the pillow, and sleep claimed him once more.

* * *

When he awoke, later that afternoon, Belle was nowhere to be found. At first, he panicked, certain she’d left him again, but his sensitive ears heard voices from somewhere in the castle. He sat up and did his best to get out of bed. He ambled to the wardrobe and put on a fresh shirt and a dark blue banyan. It was the closest thing he had to a color of mourning.

Once he was dressed, he made his way downstairs, following the sound of Belle’s voice. The castle was in ruins. His father would have been furious, he thought darkly. He felt no such attachment to this prison. Let the damned place crumble. Beasts didn’t deserve to live in castles anyway. Perhaps he’d run away. Live in the woods, like an animal. It would suit him. Belle would go home, to the village, or perhaps she’d stay in the castle with her library. She’d live out the rest of her life in peace, without having to care for a useless beast.

He found Belle in the dining room, talking over a cup of tea with an old man. Her father, the Beast realized, and he quickly left the room before either of them noticed him.

“—Then, I found the staff,” Belle lamented, her voice trembling. “And he’s so melancholy. I know there’s nothing I can do to help him, but oh, Papa.” The Beast suddenly realized she was crying. “And the staff, did you remember them? They’re lifeless. Papa, it was awful.” He knew he was intruding on a private conversation, but he couldn’t seem to will his legs to move.

“I don’t know what to do,” Belle’s voice was quiet. “I don’t know if I can bear it.”

Her father said nothing for a moment, then, “I wish you’d never had to come to this awful place,” he said. “I never wanted you to grieve like this.”

The Beast sagged against the wall, shame and guilt prickling behind his eyes. Her father was right, his selfishness and temper had led to this. If he’d just let Belle take her father that first night, he could have spared her all this heartache and grief. He’d given her his burden, which was something he never wanted to inflict on anyone, much less someone he loved so dearly.

Belle’s voice was distorted, as though she was saying it through her hands, or perhaps she’d hidden her face in a fatherly embrace, but she whispered, “Oh, no, Papa. I’m so glad you found this place.”

That was too much to bear, and the Beast stumbled away, hurrying down the hall, not bothering to muffle his footsteps.

“Did you hear something?” he heard Belle ask. “Hello? LeFou, is that you?”

He came out into the silent foyer, nails clicking on the floor, and stopped. The first thing he noticed was the pile of supplies near the door. LeFou and Maurice must have brought food and supplies, things from Belle’s house that they’d need to stay here. The thought of her living here forever piled even more guilt on him.

Then, he noticed the staff.

Lumiere and Plumette were together, sitting on the table by the fireplace, with Cogsworth nearby. However much they argued, the Beast knew the clock and candelabra wouldn’t like to be far from each other. Belle stood Chapeau near the cart that held Mrs. Potts and Chip. Madame and the Maestro remained outside, with Frou Frou, who Belle had righted and covered in cloth.

The Beast sunk to the floor. He heard a strange, strangled howling, like a dog who’d been shot. He realized the sound was him crying. He was dimly aware of Belle’s hand on his shoulder, on his face, but he didn’t acknowledge her. He let the grief swallow him up.  

Lumiere—ever kind, bright, brilliant Lumiere. His oldest, perhaps only friend, stiff old Cogsworth. Mrs. Potts, the closest thing he’d had to a mother since his own had died, and Chip, only eight years old. Oh, God! These people that had looked after him his entire life, stayed with him through all his sins and curses. Their blood was on his hands.

Minutes later, or perhaps it was hours, he finally quieted, exhausted. He stood, and turned around.

Belle was sitting on the staircase, her head buried in her knees, arms wrapped around herself, protectively. At the sound of him stirring, she lifted her head to look at him. Her eyes were red and puffy, but she was composed.

“I think I’d like to go upstairs,” he said quietly.

Belle nodded, and stood up, crossing to him to take hold of his arm. They walked up the stairs together in silence.

* * *

 They were sitting in the library. Belle was reading a passage from some Moliere piece, a comedy, that the Beast wasn’t listening to. He laid his head on the table, the effort it took to lift his head more than he could muster.

“I’ve been thinking about the curse,” she said casually, the play forgotten. “You said that it was a punishment for your past transgressions, and I was thinking…” she paused, watching his reaction, before continuing. “Perhaps if we found the enchantress and _asked_ her, surely she could see that you have changed—”

“Belle,” the Beast said in a tired voice, not bothering to lift his head from the table. “She made her terms very clear if I didn’t… break the curse before the last petal fell, it would be permanent.”

Belle’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she slammed her book closed. “How were you supposed to break the curse then?” she demanded, her voice rising.

“I—I can’t tell you,” he said lamely, turning his head. If it killed him, he would spare her from blaming herself. He wouldn’t burden her anymore.

“Why not?” Belle snapped. “Why won’t you tell me? I’m trying to _help_ you!” She stood, slamming her book on the table and glaring up at him. “Why are you so determined to stay like this?”

At her admonishments, the Beast suddenly grew angry. Not at Belle, but at her constant hope that made him feel even worse than before. “Belle!” he snarled. “Just stop, please!” She drew back at his outburst. He hadn’t shouted at her since that first night, and it clearly frightened her. _He_ had frightened her. The Beast hated himself more than ever.

Her frightened expression gave way to a coldness he’d never seen before. Belle’s jaw clenched and she took a deep breath. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll be in my room if you decide you want to tell me the truth.” She stood, quickly, knocking over a chair and storming past him, slamming the door behind her.

The Beast laid back down, feeling as though he was drowning.

A little while later, the doors to the library opened, and the Beast looked up hopefully, wondering if Belle had returned. It wasn’t Belle, it was LeFou.

“Monsieur,” he said stiffly. “I’ve been sent to fetch you. Belle is calling for a meeting in the dining room.”

“I suppose it would do me no good to argue,” the Beast grumbled, sitting up.

LeFou smiled tightly. “She’s very cross. I’d be careful if I were you.”

He led the LeFou back to the dining room, where he found Belle sitting at the head of the table, looking rigidly composed. He sat down to her left, while her father sitting at the place on her right. LeFou sat next to the Beast.

“I’ve made a decision,” Belle said when they had all sat down. “I’m going to go find the Enchantress.” The Beast opened his mouth to argue, but Belle held up a hand. “You and Papa will stay here, while you both recover, and I will set off to Paris tomorrow.”

The Beast was stunned, angry, hopeful. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed. “You can’t possibly go alone. It’s too dangerous.”

Belle frowned. “Why is that? I’m perfectly capable of handling myself on a horse, and it isn’t like I’ll be traveling at night.”

“The reality is, Belle, it’s dangerous for a woman to travel unaccompanied,” Maurice said, leaning his chin on his hands. I’d be more than happy to accompany you—”

“No, Papa, it’s too far, and you’re still ill,” Belle interrupted. “It’s the best option! I’m more than willing—”

“I can go with her--”

“I can’t ask you to risk your life for me!” the Beast snapped, the harshness of his voice quieting the other two men, who looked between the two awkwardly.

Belle folded her arms. “It isn’t for you to decide!” She said coldly, and her face softened as the Beast flinched. “Whether you ask me or not, I’m offering my help. For you, and for the staff.”

That hurt, and she knew that it would. What could he say to that? He settled on, “You can’t go alone. I won’t allow it.”

Belle’s father gave a quiet whistle. LeFou looked away.  

Belle let out an angry, frustrated little laugh which was twice as terrifying as her coldness. “You won’t _allow_ it? Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?”

The Beast realized the weight of what he had said and immediately felt awful. “Belle—”

“I’m going, and that’s final. How dare you try to—”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Unless you’re under the impression that I am still your prisoner here—”

“Of course not—”

“I will do as I like! This is not up to you! You’re selfish to think that you are the only one affected by this--” The Beast slumped in his chair, defeated, but Belle wasn’t finished. Her face was flushed, and she paced back and forth in front of the table, ready to yell at him some more.

“Belle,” Maurice cautioned as she opened her mouth to berate him once more. “Why don’t we discuss this more after dinner? I think we’ve exhausted the subject for now.”

Belle looked at the Beast’s hunched form, and her shoulders sagged. She reached out her hand to touch his shoulder, but quickly crossed her arms and turned away. “Alright, Papa.” She left the room quickly, leaving three men in silence.

LeFou excused himself and followed Belle out. Being alone with Maurice was more awkward than the Beast had originally thought, and shame settled in his stomach as he remembered the man’s pleas and apologies that night he’d picked the rose.

“Well,” the old man sighed. “I could see that coming.”

“I’ve upset her,” the Beast lamented.

“And she has upset you,” her father added. “Love is never easy.”

“We’re not—” the Beast started, looking at the old man in alarm. So, he had noticed. “She doesn’t—”

Belle’s father waved his hand dismissively. “That doesn’t matter. She’ll calm down, and then we can discuss this further.”

“I don’t want her to risk her life for me,” the Beast explained. “I’m not worth it.”

“Sometimes it seems that way, doesn’t it?” he mused. “But I’m afraid Belle doesn’t see you as you see yourself, and she’s very determined. It’s best if we support her and give her our aid, or she’ll steal away like a thief in the night and endanger herself even more.”

The Beast knew he was correct. Ultimately, his opinion mattered little to Belle, he supposed. His last hope was that her father could talk some reason into her. “How can you let your daughter put herself in danger for a monster?” he asked, his voice taking on an accusatory tone.

“I’ve done my best to protect Belle,” the old man said after a moment. “Too much, in fact. I’ve stifled her, kept her prisoner in a quiet life she doesn’t want. She’s proven to me time and time again that she can handle herself quite well. I worry for her, of course, but it’s time for me to step back and let her make her own choices.”

“I see,” said the Beast.

“And besides, if either of us were in her situation, would we do any different?”

The Beast sighed. “I’m sorry for locking you up,” he said quietly. “I was cruel, and I brought suffering to your family.”

The old man’s brow furrowed, and he thought for a long time before finally speaking. “I don’t know if you have. But I thank you for your contrition.” He stood and left the room, leaving the Beast alone once more.

Belle found LeFou in a parlor later that evening, sitting alone with a bottle of the bourbon he’d found last night. She settled in next to him, offering a friendly smile before taking the bottle and taking a little sip.

“You know, this stuff is foul,” she said.

LeFou laughed a little at that. “I’ve never been much for hard liquor. Neither was he,” he added, melancholy returning to his face. “I’m sorry, I know you didn’t--”

Belle set the bottle down and reached for LeFou’s hand. “What I feel towards him doesn’t matter. You obviously… cared for him, and while I can’t pretend to understand, I can listen,” she told him. “I’d like us to be friends.”

LeFou’s face was lacking his characteristic merriment that Belle remembered from the times she’d seen him around Villeneuve growing up. He raised an eyebrow. “Friends? I wasn’t exactly the nicest to your family, Belle. I thought you were crazy just like the rest of them.”

Belle was a bit stung, but she already knew this. “That may be so, but you helped me and my friend when we needed it most. I am very grateful, and…” she paused. “I really would like a friend, right now. I think you could use one too.”

LeFou gave a breathy little laugh. “Yeah, probably.” He took another sip of his drink. “I can accompany you on your travels, if you’d like,” he offered, brightening a bit. “I mean, I won’t be much help, I can’t read or do much of anything, but--”

“Thank you,” Belle said sincerely. “LeFou, thank you, but I want you to stay here and keep an eye on the Beast and my father. I’m worried about them, and I worry about the villagers. What if they decide to come here again?”

“They won’t--”

“They _might_ ,” Belle insisted. “If they find out the Beast is still alive, they’ll come avenging Gaston. I can handle myself on my own, I know I can. But my father is still ill, and if something should happen, the Beast can’t care for him on his own. _Please,_ LeFou.”

“Alright, I promise,” he swore. “I’ll stay.”

* * *

 The Beast found Belle in her room later that night. She was packing a bag with a spare change of clothes, things for cooler weather, a wool skirt, gloves and thick stockings. She turned to see who’d entered, and when she saw the Beast, she frowned and went back to her packing. He sat down on her bed, fidgeting with the small chest he’d brought with him.

“Well?” Belle finally demanded, her voice still cold and angry. “What is it?”

“Here,” he said, handing her the little box, which was much larger in her hands than his.

She looked down at it, cautiously, then back to the Beast. Finally, she opened it, and when she saw what was inside, gasped and looked up at him. “What is this?” she asked, all anger gone from her face.

The Beast sighed. “It’s money. You’ll need money to stay at inns, and get food and supplies. This should last you a few months, at least.”

Belle laughed incredulously. “A few months? This is more money than I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

“It isn’t much in the way of help,” said the Beast. “But if you’re willing to risk your life for this old monster I should at least provide some assistance.”

“I don’t think you’re a monster,” Belle said, her face softening. She reached up to cup the Beast’s cheek with her hand.

“Well, thank you,” the Beast said. “But that doesn’t change fact.”

Belle’s hand dropped, and the Beast grieved for her touch. “Well,” she said sharply. “If it’s up to me it won’t be fact much longer.”

The Beast’s heart ached, the pain of hoping and the deep, encompassing affection he felt for this woman nearly turning his stomach inside out. He could tell by the tensing of her jaw and the coldness of her expression that she was still furious with him, but at this moment he’d never loved her more. Oh, to have hands instead of claws, that he could reach out and touch her face without fear of hurting her!

She suddenly turned back to look at him. “I won’t go without your blessing. I don’t want us to part on bad terms. Papa says we should never leave angry.”

“I don’t want you to be angry,” the Beast said.

“And I don’t want you to be sad,” Belle parried. “It seems we are at an impasse.”

He laughed a little at that. “How can I knowingly send you off to risk your life for me when I hardly deserve it?”

Belle was quiet at that. “I’m not asking for you to beg me to save you or to laud me like some heroine. I just want your trust and your faith. I’m asking you to believe in me,” she explained. “Because… truthfully I _am_ frightened. I don’t even know where to begin, I’ve hardly left Villeneuve since I was five, but… I have to do this. And I need you to be on my side.”

The Beast swallowed, a lump in his throat. He’d prayed to so many gods the past ten years he’d been cursed, but they’d done nothing for him. Now, here was this woman, this impossible, beautiful, funny girl, begging for his faith. In that moment, he knew that out of all those gods, the one thing he knew he believed in was Belle.

* * *

 “Be careful, my girl,” Maurice pleaded, hugging Belle tightly. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

“I promise, Papa. I’ll be safe,” Belle swore, pressing her face into his neck and breathing in his familiar scent. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Belle,” Maurice said. “I know if anyone can do this, you can.”

Belle pulled away, eyes glistening, and smiled, the words of confidence warming her. “Thank you.” She turned to LeFou and gave him a firm hug as well. “Look after things for me,” she said.

LeFou smiled and nodded. “Promise.”

Hesitantly, Belle turned to the Beast. She wrapped her arms around his massive head, burying her face in his fur. One arm came to wrap around her waist, holding her close. “Don’t go,” he pleaded.

“I’ll find her, I promise,” Belle whispered. “And I will come back. We won’t be parted for long.” Belle squeezed the Beast tightly, then untangled herself from his embrace. She took one last look into his bright blue eyes and steeled herself. She turned on her heel, drew her cloak around herself and mounted Philippe in one fluid motion.

“Goodbye,” she said, looking at all three of them. Then, she urged Philippe forward and galloped down the drive.

Maurice, LeFou, and the Beast watched her go. When her figure was finally hidden by the forest, Maurice sighed and walked inside, LeFou close behind him. The Beast remained, staring at the spot where Belle had disappeared. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed some good old-fashioned angst. As always, comments and kudos are oh so appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Please leave a comment if you'd like! The more response I get, the more motivated I'll be to update!
> 
> Also, I'm a writing student, so any constructive criticism on style, characterization, etcetera is beyond appreciated!


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